Delicate Pieces
by Samantha-Caldwell
Summary: “She stands very straight, shoulders squared, fists at her sides, like she is ready to go into battle. She is bracing herself.” LL, big on the angst.
1. Tonight

AU - veers off the canon path somewhere around 5.18/5.19. Rating for non-graphic sexual situations.

Humongous thanks to iheartbridges for the fantastic beta.

Delicate Pieces

**Part One: Tonight  
**

Luke's apartment is dark when he steps inside, and for a moment he wonders if she has already gone to bed. Then he sees her– standing at the window overlooking the street, quiet and still and lost in thought or something else. He pauses in the doorway, suddenly unnerved, almost afraid to disturb her.

She is barefoot and clad only in a pair of unbuttoned jeans that sit low on her slim hips, as if she'd been distracted by something outside the window halfway through undressing for bed. The way she is facing the street affords him a perfect perspective of her profile– the delicate lines of her face, the slope of her small breasts, the slight inward curve of her waist. She stands very straight, shoulders squared, fists at her sides, like she is ready to go into battle. She is bracing herself. He marvels at her ability to look entirely vulnerable and utterly impenetrable at the same time.

Yellow light from the streetlamps is spilling in through the pane, bathing her in a harsh, synthetic glow. He thinks she looks eerie and impossibly lovely; the picture of tragic beauty– his very own Helen.

Lorelai turns her head suddenly, a flicker of movement, and catches him staring. Their gazes lock; the delicate pieces that have been lingering all day snap into place.

Her eyes are bright with tears and lamplight, her hair a mess of black curls falling over her white shoulders. His breath catches in his chest because he sees, for an ephemeral moment, what she was like at sixteen, before Rory, before Stars Hallow– a wild, sad, young thing.

He closes the distance between them, and for a moment, stands with her at the window. Its late; the street is barren. From the corner of his eye he sees two fat tears slide down her cheeks. He searches for the right words, for any words at all, but he knows there is nothing he could say that would erase the worry lines from her forehead. Language is her armor, not his, and even she has taken off the chain mail tonight. He's never seen her this way before– upset beyond the point of words. It scares him to see her so fragile. So_ quiet_.

He isn't sure how he's supposed to be reacting to all of this. Should he cry? Scream? Smash his fist through the window? At first he was numb, pleasantly buzzed on denial, but slowly, feeling has begun to seep in, staining his countenance with a dark sort of fear. Mostly, he's just angry and so, so frustrated. This shouldn't be happening now, not when they were really starting to get it _right_. With all that thickly stuff with her mother and Christopher at the vow-renewal and the four-weeks-of-hell that followed securely behind them, the future was starting to look good again. The summer was just beginning to unfold, fresh and open with possibilities. He'd started making plans. He wanted to take her to his father's cabin and make her s'mores in front of the fire. He wanted to buy the Twickham house and fix it up so that it was _theirs_. He wanted to ask her to marry him.

Now, their picture-perfect summer is evaporating before his eyes. To Luke, the future looks thin and filmy, like wax paper. He never thought their future would be wax paper. They waited eight years to get to be in love and now that it is finally, _finally_ here, the universe seems to be conspiring against them. _Figures,_ Luke thinks bitterly, staring out at the empty street. He broke his own rule. He planned ahead.

He kisses her then, because he doesn't know what else to do, and because she's half-naked and sad and he loves her. He's dazed by the ferocity of her response, the way her hands come up to grasp his upper arms, the way she presses her lips against his until their teeth clash, the sound she makes when he threads his fingers through her hair– not a moan or a sob but something else, something sharper. His kiss is gentle, but hers is pleading. He is surprised. He didn't think she would want to tonight.

"Luke..." She pulls back a few inches and says his name, her voice soft and sandpapery.

He reaches up with both hands and traces her collarbone with the pads of his fingers, his palms brushing the tops of her breasts. "I want to," he says, surprised to find his own voice hoarse.

She reaches up and begins to unbutton his dress shirt. No flannel today– he felt like he had to dress up when they saw the doctor. He even shaved, as if these small things would somehow steer the course of fate and bring them good news. Now he realizes how stupid that was.

Luke watches as she pushes the shiny buttons through the tiny holes, admiring the nimble way her long, slender fingers work, wanting to feel them against his skin. She slides the shirt off his shoulders and down his arms, and he tugs his undershirt over his head. Both garments puddle on the floor.

Her hands come up, smoothing over the planes of his chest and down his arms. Her eyes darken, and he sees the change in her face as desire attempts to eclipse sadness. It doesn't quite make it, but he knows the two can coexist.

She steps into his arms then, hugging him tightly around the waist. He pulls her closer still, realizing for the first time how cold it is in the apartment when he feels the gooseflesh spread all over her pale skin.

_This could be the last time_.

The icy thought registers in his head and sinks to his chest, chilling him in one shuddering second. He pulls back to look at Lorelai, at the slight furrow of her brow, the purse of her pink lips. A sick feeling curdles in the pit of his stomach as he realizes that she's thinking it too. He feels it in the press of her fingers against his skin. Desperation.

Make it count. The words thrum inside his head. _Make it count. _

Tamping down the sudden frantic feeling, Luke takes a small step backwards. Lorelai takes this opportunity to slide her jeans down her legs and step out of them. She reaches for his belt and soon, his jeans join hers on the floor.

He kisses her mouth softly, then her jaw and down her neck, pausing at the hollow of her throat, where her low, appreciative hum vibrates beneath his lips. He kneels, and his mouth maps a trail down her chest, landing at the soft skin of her stomach. He pauses, wondering at what might never be. At all they never got the chance to do. Luke kisses her there, letting the tip of his tongue dip into her navel. He feels more than hears her answering gasp. Her hands find their way to his hair, fingernails scraping gently over his scalp. Luke shivers, breathing in the heady smell of her skin.

He needs her. Its simple and obvious and something he realizes now in a new, sharp way. His life before her was dull and monotonous. After Rachel left, after his dad died, there were a few years when everything was dark. He went through the motions of life, eating, sleeping, working, seeing the same people every day, all the while plagued by the sense that it all meant nothing. He was an automaton moving through a grey world. And then, one day, there was Lorelai, and she was loud and bright and fun. The color came back in big, splashy bursts. Even before he loved her, he needed her.

What would he do without her? _Alone,_ his mind answers his own question. But even more than alone, he'd be _without her_. The fear that thought incites is a prickly knot at the back of his neck, a palpable thing.

"Luke?" He looks up at the sound of her voice, his cheek still pressed against her flat stomach. She looks worried. He realizes that he has stopped participating, his mind drifting.

"Sorry," he murmurs. She strokes the back of his neck in response.

On any other night she would be teasing him about his short attention span and skillfully redirecting his focus. Tonight she is silent, her usual happy chatter replaced with a look of solemness and obvious adoration that both scares and moves him.

He'd grown used to the fact that she talks while they make love. It isn't in the usual way, not with the raunchy, tactless words he's heard the moldable women of hazy late-night shows and nine-hundred numbers use. With Lorelai it isn't a dirty, desperate thing, a whispering of lewd suggestions into ears in the dark– it is simply that there is, on a normal night, a perpetual stream of words leaving her mouth. She quips and giggles, and tells him how she feels, and makes him laugh at times he never thought it would be appropriate to laugh, and that is something new and sweet for him.

At first, accustomed to Nicole's persistent habit of firmly shutting her lips and eyes in intimate moments, he thought that Lorelai was using the words to distance herself from him, trying to undo the moment, to keep him at arms length. But Luke soon realized it was exactly the opposite- talking is just her way of grounding herself, the way she connects to the world, and thus, to him. He found he likes being able to direct the path of her words with his hands and lips– to change her tone from teasing to pleading. More than that, he likes the low, honeyed timbre of her voice when they are wrapped up in sheets and sweat and each other.

Now her animate chatter is gone, relinquished to the demons of the day. Luke finds that he really misses it. This heavy silence is almost suffocating.

"It'll be okay, Luke" she finally says. "It will be." He lets her have the lie.

Luke stands. Lorelai balances on her tiptoes, kissing him until their lungs ache and the cadent roll of her hips propels him toward the bed. Unwilling to disentangle, they make it there in a few, fumbling steps and slip under the sheets. Her hands find him in the darkness, reaching through the sadness and the dread, leaving him panting with want and grasping for her.

His fingers search out all her softest places. He knows her, knows what she likes, where and how she wants to be touched. He wants to make her happy. He wants that more that anything else in the world.

Before long he is above and she is below, and Lorelai is reaching down to guide him in. She sighs softly and he closes his eyes with the good of it.

They've always been good at this, the give and take part of it, the rhythm of their usual verbal banter echoed in the rhythm of their bodies. Tonight, they find themselves moving with a new, desperate kind of heat, unable to get close enough, holding on so tightly they leave tiny crescents of indentation where fingernails cleaved to flesh.

Luke dips his head to press his lips to her neck, just under her ear, and settles there, nipping her lightly and then letting his tongue salve the reddened skin. He can feel the delicate pulse of her heartbeat surging beneath his lips. _Alive_, he thinks.

Reality is a sharp edge they move to avoid, but even with careful dancing Tomorrow looms above and around them, a thick and choking reminder that tonight is the only certain thing. He has to resist the urge to grasp her hips in his large hands and pound into her until Tomorrow wavers and disappears.

Instead, shamed by the thought, he bends his head and kisses her deeply, allowing himself to be soothed by the hot, sweet slide of her tongue and the circular movement of her hips. There is comfort in the familiar motions, in the heat of another person. Even though their small, safe world is unraveling, they still have this.

When he feels her reaching, he slides a hand under her back, lifting her a few inches off the mattress, and pushes a pillow under her hips, changing the angle in a way he knows she likes.

She gasps, then moans deeply. Without warning, her eyes fill with tears she can't blink away. They slip past her eyelashes and roll down the sides of her face to pool in the delicate hollows of her ears. Dismayed, Luke stops moving. He has to work to slow his breathing, the sound of his frantically beating heart pulsing in his ears.

"No, I'm sorry, don't stop..." she whispers, but she's still crying.

Luke closes his eyes against the sight of her tears. He wants to scream with the unfairness of it all; he wants to stomp and cry and break things. Instead he leans down a few inches to kiss her forehead.

She shakes her head slightly, angry at herself. "Luke, I'm sorry, I'm making this harder. Dammit." She takes a deep, shuddering breath and swipes at her cheeks. "Everything's going to be fine. I'm just scared about tomorrow."

He opens his eyes so that she can see what he doesn't know how to put into words. His voice is heavy with honesty. "Me too."

For the first time all day he lets himself really look at her, right into her wet, blue eyes. He stares until he feels a lump form in his own throat, and it's too much, too real, and she takes his face in her hands and kisses him fiercely.

He moves again, and she moves with him, and eventually, Tomorrow begins to fade away.

Her climax is quick and hard, and through slitted eyes he watches her face, awestruck, as she splinters like a mirror knocked off the wall, falling into a thousand glittering pieces and reflecting light into all the dark corners. The sweet, keening sound she makes and the way her fingers clutch at the muscles of his back push him over the edge, and he shudders, groaning endearments he won't remember into her shoulder as she strokes his hair.

For a moment he lets himself rest on her, his head pillowed on her breasts. She holds him there firmly, her breath coming in warm, quick puffs against his forehead. But he is afraid to hurt her, so he turns onto his back, bringing her with him.

Lorelai lays her head on his chest, pressing her cheek into his warm skin. After a minute, she reaches out and gently places her hand on his side, just above his waist, directly over the place they were told the tumor is. The site is marked by the tiny, pink wound left over from the biopsy he had three days ago. '_X' marks the spot_, he thinks, but this is no treasure.

He feels her breath hitch in her chest, and knows she's remembering that horrible day the biopsy was taken. He lays a hand on her head and strokes her hair, trying to memorize the way it feels between his fingers. "Rory's still going to meet us at the hospital at 9:00 tomorrow?"

"Yeah," she says, not lifting her head from his chest. "She's bringing Parcheesi for us to play in the waiting room." She offers a half-hearted laugh that sounds more like a sob.

"I feel bad about her missing a day of classes, but at least you won't have to wait alone."

She nods against him. Silence folds over them for a moment, and its something he's getting used to. The quiet was a luxury he figured he'd have to give up when they started dating, only to find that it wasn't such a luxury after all. He never counted on _this_. Now he has to learn to like the quiet all over again.

"You're going to be fine, Luke," she says. Her words are solid and brave, but she's pressed up so tightly against him that he feels the telltale tremor in her hands and lips and chin.

"I know," he agrees quietly. Maybe he won't be fine. They both know that. But he also knows that there is more than just Tomorrow– there is tonight. Tonight she's here, warm and soft beside him, and that's something. For Luke, that's everything.

Even though he has to squint to see beyond the wax paper windows, the lamplight finds it's way through, and he can just make out the blurry, pretty shape of her. In the silver moments before he falls asleep, drifting in that bleary place where dreams imbue thoughts, he watches as the scattered shards of mirror glitter in the yellow glow, so many delicate pieces dancing in the dark corners.


	2. Tonight: Redux

Part Two

**Tonight: Redux**

She feels him fall asleep, feels the rise and fall of his chest under her cheek slow and deepen, his muscles relaxing, his hand slipping out of her hair. She waits a few minutes to make sure he's sleeping thoroughly, then carefully slides out from under his arm. She is afraid to stay in bed, worried that her inevitable tossing and turning will wake him. A few hours of peaceful sleep is something she can give him. It isn't much. It isn't enough. But it's something.

Lorelai won't sleep tonight. The worry is surging through her veins like a chemical, some vile concoction mixed by ominous hands. Fear is a bitter drug, and she's on a particularly bad trip. The feeling reminds her of the time she gulped down two pots of coffee before having anything to eat; she's wide awake, jittery, a little nauseous.

The floor creaks when she stands, the paneling cold beneath her feet. Her skin is still warm and damp from their lovemaking, the pink flush a vestige that will keep her warm long after the color fades. The air of the apartment is cool against her hot skin, and she stares longingly at the haven of twisted sheets and body-warmth where he is sleeping.

She finds herself wishing, for the hundredth time, that this is actually some terrible dream, and she'll wake up soon. The wish blooms in her chest, a tiny bulb of hope. And then it's gone, dissolved in sour reality, and all that's left is the empty space, a hole. She's awake. She knows she's awake.

She tiptoes over to his side of the bed and pulls the covers up from his waist to his chin, lingering for a moment when her fingers brush the warm skin of shoulders. She bends and picks up the white button-down shirt he'd been wearing from the floor. It isn't as comfortable as his usual flannel, but she slides it on anyway.

Wrapping herself in an afghan, Lorelai curls herself into the corner of the sofa, pulling her feet up under her and laying her head on the back of the seat. The afghan smells like Luke. She wonders how long it would take the scent to fade away.

The events of the day seem blurred and dark as they turn over in her mind, the moments tenuous and fragile, like they'd shatter and slip away if she concentrated too hard. She is certain of one thing– this has been one of the worst days of her life.

She isn't at all happy with the way she's handled it, either. She's been morose since the appointment with the oncologist, balancing on the brink of tears every few minutes. Even when they went to Sniffy's to tell Buddy and Maize the bad news and pretend to have dinner, she couldn't manage to keep up any semblance of a conversation through the meal.

Until today, Lorelai had been positively chipper throughout the entire ordeal, painting a smile on her face and quipping like there was no tomorrow. Even the day the biopsy was taken, when she held his hand and watched as a nurse slid a nine-inch needle into his chest, and Luke –unflappable Luke– had cried out with the pain of it, even then, she'd waited until she'd excused herself under the pretense of getting coffee and locked herself in the hospital bathroom before crying.

But today, as they sat across from the oncologist and listened as he told them that it was cancer, that there was a tumor growing on his kidney, that it was bad, that he might die, she realized she couldn't do it anymore. She just couldn't tell another joke. She couldn't force a smile. She was too exhausted.

Lorelai knows she failed in that respect. It was her job to be supportive and optimistic, and she let him down. After all the things he's done for her, all the times he was there when she needed him, the one time he needed her she couldn't swallow her own selfish grief long enough to grin and pretend everything was fine. She couldn't even keep herself from crying when they were in bed.

The anger rises up in her chest all over again as she remembers her silly tears, and she berates herself for being such a damn_ girl_. But the sudden rush of emotion had surprised her. She'd been staring up at his face, moving with him, her hands sweeping over the planes of his back, trying to memorize the decadent feel of warm, slick skin stretched over taut muscle. She was trying not to think too much, trying not to dwell on the fear curled in her gut. Then, so sweetly, Luke had pushed a pillow beneath her and placed his big, gentle hand on her hip, changing the angle and pressure in a way that made her breath catch in her throat. For one, glittering moment all she felt was an unbelievable surge of pleasure, followed closely by a swell of emotion so strong it wrenched the floodgates open wide enough that her heart poured out into his hands.

Luke starts to snore a little from the bed, and she feels the hot sting of tears again. Lorelai presses her palms into her eyes, willing away the tightness in her chest._ No more crying._ She's gotten so used to the sound of soft snores emanating from his side of the bed in the darkness that it rarely wakes her up anymore, unless he's pressed right up against her and his nose is next to her ear. Even then, she doesn't usually mind all that much– it's such a special thing to have to roll him over in his sleep, such a _domestic_ thing, a _whole life_ thing, that it only serves to remind her that she finally has it:the _whole life thing_.

She doesn't want to have to relearn how to sleep in silence. When they'd been apart, during the coldest month of the winter, she'd barely slept at all, suffocated by the thick, gummy silence, constantly searching for the sound of him next to her. She would frequently wake up in the middle of the night, having dreamt of him, with that terrible heavy feeling in her gut, that aching, that _missing him_.

Lorelai would do anything to keep from having to feel that again. But this is beyond her control. She is powerless, and it scares her. Even when she left home at seventeen with a baby on her hip and no place to go, she knew they would get by because she was in control. But there is nothing Lorelai can say or do that will keep the tumor inside him from growing, or influence the outcome of the surgery. Helplessness is a sick and ugly feeling.

When restlessness tickles her fingertips and toes, she gets up, the afghan still wrapped around her shoulders, pours herself a glass of water and sits at the kitchen table, sipping it slowly.

She thinks of the doctor's appointment they went to earlier in the day. She presses the glass of water against her cheek, against her lips. She remembers sitting beside Luke in that small office, staring at the odd, blue-checkered wallpaper, trying to force herself to listen to what the oncologist was saying, to make sense of his words. But there was no sense in them. He was saying that Luke might die. There was no sense in that at all.

After nearly half-an-hour of explaining the disease, Luke's chances of recovering, the possible treatments, and the surgery he would have the next day, Dr, Healy left them alone in his office. "Take all the time you need," he said before he stepped out into the hallway. Lorelai thought it was an exceptionally odd thing to say when he'd just finished telling them that Luke may not have any time at all. What they _needed_ was another fifty years.

At first they said nothing to each other, shock's numbing hands resting heavily on their shoulders. Lorelai crossed her arms, feeling cold. She wondered why they had the air-conditioner up so high when it was only May.

Finally, after a few minutes, or hours, she wasn't sure, Lorelai heard Luke take a deep breath, then let it out slowly. She looked at him. His shoulders were slumped forward, his hands clutching the armrests of the chair. She wanted to hug him. She wanted to cry.

"I want you to know," he said suddenly, not meeting her eyes, his voice unbearably soft. "That if you want out, or you want to take some time or something, it's okay." He pursed his lips, and looked down at his lap. "I don't want you to feel obligated... " His voice trailed off. He cleared his throat.

All she could do was stare, open-mouthed. She'd never wanted to smack someone so much in her life. Anger and insult rattled around in her gut like the last two tic-tacs in the container. She felt her face flush. When she found her voice, it was little more than a harsh whisper. "You think I would leave you because of this?" Rage bubbled up in her throat, hot and sour. "Is that what you think of me?"

He shook his head, clearly frustrated. "I'm not saying this right. You know I'm no good at explaining myself." He sighed heavily, passing a hand over his face. "I didn't think you would leave. I just want you to understand that you can, if this is too much."

She suddenly felt as if she'd swallowed an anvil. He was giving her a way out, she realized. The anger and the hurt trickled away until she was left feeling ineffably sad. "Luke..." she said softly, shaking her head, incredulous. How could he not know how much she adored him?

"I've been here before, Lorelai. I know what it's like to deal with the... the cancer thing. It's no picnic. My dad was really sick. I mean, really fucking sick. It was horrible, and disgusting, and humiliating for him."

Lorelai's breath caught in her throat, the true weight of reality pressing down on her shoulders for the first time. She could see it in his face. He was scared.

She'd felt a few tears slide down her hot cheeks, watched as they landed on her lap, making little, wet splotches on her already dark jeans. She swept them away with the back of her hand.

"And really," Luke continued, "this is _my_ thing, my... problem. So you shouldn't have to... if you don't want to..."

"Dammit, Luke. I love you." It came out sharper than she meant it too, but she wanted him to really hear her, because she had a feeling this was probably the most important thing she'd ever say to him. He looked up from his lap when she said the words. She saw his eyes widen. "I love you," she repeated, softer this time. "This is _our _thing."

* * *

From her seat at the table, Lorelai watches the night fade, grayness seeping in, overtaking the dark, until finally, slowly, the light comes.

Right before dawn, Lorelai makes a decision. She can be strong when she needs to be. She's done it before, she can do it now. She's going to be like Hillary after The Monica Debacle– she'll be tough and unflappable and wear really expensive shoes.

Lorelai sits up a little straighter in the small kitchen chair.

When the sun is high and bright and warming the room, she crawls back into bed and lays beside him, propped up on her elbow, lips pursed. Reaching out with her other hand, Lorelai touches his forehead, his cheek, and finds herself wishing again.

She loves him; she doesn't want him to hurt. She wants him to be absurdly happy. She wants all this sickness to go away. More than anything, she wants to be able to wrap herself in the afghan every night for the rest of her life and be surrounded in the smell of him.

"Luke," she says softly, her hand flat on his sternum, shaking him gently. "Luke," she calls his name louder, and he opens his eyes. He blinks, focusing on her.

"Hey." His mouth turns up in a sleepy grin, his voice rough. She can tell the moment he becomes fully awake, when he remembers what has happened and what day it is, because his smile fades and he turns his head to look at the clock on the bedside table. "It's morning," he says flatly, and takes a deep breath. Her hand rises and falls with his chest.

She nods and manages what she hopes is an encouraging smile. "I think we have time for breakfast before we leave, and I can hear Caesar puttering around downstairs already. Do you want me to go down and get us something?" Her voice sounds hollow to her ears.

Luke doesn't answer, just stares up at her face, his eyes narrowing. "You look tired. Did you sleep?"

Lorelai sighs softly. He always sees right through her. "Some," she lies.

He looks away for a moment, toward the window overlooking the street. Then he turns back to her, reaches an arm around her back and pulls her down to him, so that she's curled to his side, her head resting on his shoulder.

"Five more minutes," he says, the words muffled in her hair.

_Five more minutes._ She nods against him and he pulls the covers up and over them.

_Five more minutes._

It isn't enough. But it's something.


	3. Tomorrow: The Rag and Bone Shop

Part Three

**Tomorrow– **

The Rag and Bone Shop

"_But I feel fine," he kept saying. "I feel perfectly fine."_

"_That's because your healthy kidney is taking over the functions of the cancerous one," Dr. Healy, the oncologist, explained solemnly. Dr. Healy was so serious. Lorelai had never seen anyone look so damn serious. "Luckily, you can survive with only one kidney. It's very likely we'll have to remove the entire right kidney, as well as the surrounding lymph nodes during surgery tomorrow."_

"_The lymph nodes?" Luke asked, his brow furrowed. "Is... is there cancer there too?"_

_Dr. Healy pursed his lips."The x-rays and the images from the CT scan you had a few days ago show spots on the lymph nodes around your kidney."_

"_Spots?" Luke echoed. Lorelai couldn't keep herself from imagining Luke's lymph nodes covered in little pink polka-dots, as if they had the chickenpox or the measles– just give them some soup and plenty of fluids and they'll be better in no time. _

"_Dark spots on the lymph nodes that show up on the x-rays can suggest that the cancer has spread," the oncologist continued. "And that's very serious. Now, we can't be certain just by looking at the x-rays if that's the case here. We'll know more after tomorrow's surgery. But... the spots could be an indication that the disease is quite advanced. We call it 'stage four', which means..." Dr. Healy folded and unfolded his hands on the desk, "...which means the cancer is untreatable. In that case, we can give you a few rounds of chemotherapy to allow you a few more months, but ultimately, there isn't anything we can do."_

"_But that's only if..." Luke said, his voice trailing off. Lorelai found his hand and laced her fingers through his without tearing her eyes away from the doctor._

"_Yes," Dr. Healy nodded. "We can't be sure of anything until the surgery is completed. But you need to understand that, based on what we've seen in the x-rays and your blood count... it could be stage four." _

"_Which is... bad." Lorelai found her voice, though it was raspy and nearly a whisper. Luke's hand felt cold in hers._

"_Which is bad," Dr. Healy confirmed with a nod. "I'm sorry to have to tell you this. But you need to know what the outcome of tomorrow's surgery could be."_

* * *

Lorelai now understands Luke's aversion to hospitals.

She's never found them particularly frightening before– not when she'd been 16 and alone and in labor, not when her father collapsed at Christmas a few years ago. She'd been frightened then, frightened for herself or the people close to her, but not of the place itself. Today it's different. She knows it will be here, in this hospital, that they will put her boyfriend to sleep and deliver their future with a pair of surgical gloves and a scalpel. She knows that whatever happens here will determine the rest of their lives. Uncertainty has settled like ashes after a fire, making everything– the stretchers lying in the corridors, the linen carts, the cold floors, even the gowned patients sitting in the hallways, seem ominous and ugly.

The moment they entered the hospital, Lorelai had felt the hair on her arms stand up. She'd had an immediate urge to take Luke by the hand, walk back out the door, and run as fast and as far a she could.

Of course, she didn't. She did take his hand, but she quietly followed him to the information desk, where the nurse pointed them to toward the registration center. Now they are sitting side-by-side in a small room with a handful of other patients-to-be, waiting to be checked into the hospital and registered for surgery.

The sharp antiseptic smell of the hospital is making her sick to her stomach, so she holds her coffee cup up to her face and breathes in deeply. _Better_.

She looks over at Luke, hunched forward in the chair beside her, intently filling out a clipboard full of insurance papers. His brow is furrowed in concentration, his fingers gripping the pencil fiercely. He looks pale, and there dark circles lingering under his eyes like smudges of charcoal. She wants to reach over and wipe them away.

She has recently discovered that Panic has a voice, and if she stops to listen to it, it screams, shrill and brittle, over and over and over– _'this cannot be happening'._ But it ishappening. So she ignores the scary panic-voice, and tries to concentrate on something else, on anything else– the elderly couple sitting across the room, the cheap, generic painting on the wall above the couple, the ugly orange carpet, the hangnail on her left pinkie finger. She sings the lyrics to_ Eternal Flame _silently in her head, then moves on to Bono and _The Sweetest Thing_, swaying slightly, never letting her mind stop moving.

Suddenly, Lorelai hears a -snap-. Luke curses under his breath. She looks at him, alarmed, and he holds up his pencil.

"Broke the lead," he grumbles, and sighs in frustration. She lays one hand on his forearm and plies the broken pencil from his fingers with the other.

"I'll get you a new one," she says softly. She goes to the nurse at the desk on the far side of the room and exchanges the damaged pencil.

"Luke?" she asks gently when she returns, handing him the pencil and reclaiming her seat beside him. "Are you okay? Do you want me to help? I could fill something out..."

"I'm fine," he says curtly, shaking his head. "You should go get a magazine or something."

"I'm just worried about your pencil," Lorelai says, motioning to his death-grip on the writing utensil. "Wouldn't want you to decapitate another one of these guys."

Luke rolls his eyes. "Lorelai, it's fine. I've got it."

"Okay," she nods, acquiescing. "But... are you sure you're okay?"

"Positive. I just... the forms... I need to, you know, concentrate." He points to the clipboard, then ducks his head and goes back to filling out the papers, effectively shutting her out.

Lorelai taps her fingers on her knees and looks around the room again. A woman about her own age is standing at the desk, being handed the bundle of insurance forms. She is carrying a baby in her arms and a huge diaper bag on her shoulder.

The woman takes the seat next to Lorelai, balancing the baby on her shoulder and the clipboard in her lap. Lorelai smiles politely at the woman when she looks over. Lorelai knows even before she looks closely at the baby that there is something wrong with it. She sees it in the woman's overly bright eyes and watery smile. She recognizes the look. It's the same one she saw when she looked in the mirror this morning. She suddenly feels an odd, sympathetic connection with the woman– the affinity of strangers huddling in a doorway during a sudden downpour.

When she notices that the mother is struggling to fill out the insurance forms while holding the baby, Lorelai offers to take the child.

The woman smiles gratefully. "That would be great, thank you."

"No problem," Lorelai says, lifting the baby onto her lap. "What's her name?"

"Abby," the mother says. "And I'm Caroline."

"Nice to meet you," Lorelai says absently, finding herself very suddenly absorbed with the child in her arms. "Abby," she whispers to the baby. "Hi Abby."

The girl is about six months old, dressed in pink overalls with purple sneakers on her tiny feet. She grins up at Lorelai, clumsily patting at her with chubby fingers. The baby's face is slightly puffy, rounder than a normal child's, and when she looks closely, Lorelai notices a yellowish cast to her skin.

When the baby starts to fuss, Lorelai lifts her up to her shoulder. Abby immediately grabs a handful of her hair, gurgling happily. Instead of untangling herself, Lorelai reaches up and strokes the tiny, soft fist. The baby smells so good. She remembers when Rory was this small, and feels another stab of sympathy for the woman sitting beside her.

Lorelai turns toward Luke, and is surprised to see him already looking at her, and at the baby in her arms. Their eyes meet, and she smiles slightly.

"Her name is Abby," she tells him softly.

"She's pretty," he says, and his voice sounds strange– raspy and quiet, his expression unreadable. He stares for a moment longer, then goes back to his forms.

A nurse comes up to her then, smiling animatedly. "Abby and Caroline Greenleigh?" she asks Lorelai.

Lorelai shakes her head quickly. "Oh, no. Well, I mean, this is Abby but I'm not–"

"I'm Caroline Greenleigh," the mother says. "Are they ready for us?"

The nurse replies in the affirmative and bends down to fasten a hospital bracelet around the baby's tiny wrist. Caroline hands the nurse her clipboard and takes the baby from Lorelai's arms, thanking her and flashing that same shaky smile. She stands, picks up the diaper bag, and then she and Abby are gone.

It isn't long before the same nurse comes to get Luke. She helps him fasten a much bigger bracelet on his wrist, and they follow her through a maze of doors and corridors.

"If you'll come with me, Mr. Danes, we'll get you changed into a gown and then we'll be able to prep you for surgery," she says when they finally stop outside of a room with a closed wooden door. "Mrs. Danes," she addresses Lorelai, "you'll have to wait out here for a few minutes."

Lorelai skips right over the inaccurate title, suddenly seized with panic at the thought of Luke having to go in there all alone. "I can't come in?"

"No, I'm sorry," the nurse says.

"But I'll be quiet. Like, Teller-from-Penn-and-Teller-quiet. You won't even know I'm there."

"I'm sorry," the nurse repeats.

"But–" Before she can articulate her protest, Luke has her by the elbow and is leading her down the hall.

"What's the matter with you?" he asks sharply, when they are out of earshot from the nurse. "Why can't you just wait out here for a few minutes?"

"Sorry, Luke," she softly. She hadn't realized she was embarrassing him. "I just thought you'd want some company."

"Jesus, Lorelai," he snaps, his voice harsh. "I'm a grown man, for God's sake. I don't need you to hold my hand!"

She takes a small step back. His words sting like a slap. Luke's eyes widen, and she watches a look of shame settle over his features. For a long moment, they can only stare at each other. She has absolutely no idea what to say.

Luke's shoulders slump forward, his gaze falling to the floor. And then he's stepping toward her, his arms encircling her shoulders, pulling her into him. Lorelai's breath leaves her lungs on a sigh, and she presses her face into his chest. His arms feel solid and strong around her torso, his large hand gently holding her head to his shoulder. For a few seconds her whole world is the soft feel of his flannel against her cheek, the solid plane of his chest under the worn material, the swell of his ribcage as he breathes in, his good Luke-smell erasing the horrible smells of the hospital.

It only lasts a moment– there are people around and he pulls away after a few seconds, but it is long enough to reassure her that he's not going to disappear forever if he follows the nurse into the next room.

She waits alone in the hall while Luke is prepped for surgery. But it isn't long before she hears "Mom!" and turns to see Rory coming toward her.

"Hey, kid." Lorelai grins and wraps her arms around her when they meet. She doesn't think she has ever been so happy to see her daughter. "How did you know where to find me?"

"An intern showed me," Rory explains. "Where's Luke?"

Lorelai points to the wooden door. "In there, getting sterilized."

Rory's eyes widen. "What!"

"Oh, no," Lorelai shakes her head, smirking. "Not in the please-spay-and-neuter-your-pet way. In the let's-make-you-clean-enough-to-eat-off-of way." She suddenly notices Rory's lack of large, board-game sized bags. "Hey, where's the Parcheesi?" She asks. They make their way to a couple of chairs sitting against the wall, and sit side-by-side.

"I already stashed it in the waiting room on the surgical floor."

"The waiting room? How did you find that so fast?"

"The intern showed me."

"The intern, huh?" Lorelai narrows her eyes in mock-suspicion. "Was this by any chance a young, male-type intern?"

"It may have been," Rory grins, ducking her head. Then her expression grows serious. "How's Luke?"

Lorelai shrugs heavily. "I can't really tell. He's nervous, I'm sure. But you know Luke– Mr. Monosyllable. He isn't saying much."

"Do you think I'll be able to see him before the surgery? I just wanna... you know, wish him good luck."

"That's a great idea, kid," Lorelai nods, putting her arm around her daughter's shoulders. "I think he'd appreciate that."

* * *

An hour later, Lorelai stands in a corridor on the surgical floor, a few yards down from Luke's room. She is giving Rory her few minutes alone with him before they wheel him away to the O.R. She finishes off a large styrofoam cup of coffee, tosses it into a nearby trash can, and leans back until she can feel the solidness of the wall behind her.

The surgeon has been in to explain the procedure for the final time. They've shaved his chest, and inserted an IV into his hand. In only a few minutes, he'll be in surgery. Lorelai feels like it's happening way too fast. She remembers the way she used to stop her bicycle from flying too quickly down a hill as a child by sticking out her feet and letting the strong rubber soles of her sneakers scrape over the pavement. She wishes like hell that she hadn't worn her flimsy ballet flats today.

Rory steps out of the room then, and she looks like she's been sucker-punched– her brow furrowed, her lips pursed tightly. She makes her way toward her mother, slender fingers clutching her purse to her belly like a precious thing. Lorelai reaches out, rubbing her daughter's shoulders gently.

"You okay, kid?"

Rory nods silently, her eyes wide and bright. She bites her lip and looks down at the tiled floor. When she finally meets Lorelai's eyes, her face crumbles, and she shakes her head.

"It's just..." she chokes, "he looked so..." She bites her bottom lip and shakes her head, sighing shakily. "It's _Luke_, Mom."

Lorelai nods, pulling Rory close, hugging her tightly. "I know," she says soothingly, smoothing a hand over her back. "But he's gonna be fine, hon." She pulls back after a beat, kissing her daughter's forehead. "I've gotta go in there, before they... take him." She clears her throat. "Meet me in the waiting room?"

Rory nods, wipes the wetness from her face. "Sorry."

Lorelai takes her hand, squeezes it tightly. "I know what he means to you, babe."

Rory's eyes widen suddenly. "Does _he_ know? I hope he does. Oh God, I should have told him, I should have been more clear. I have to go back in there..." She moves to pull away, to turn around and go back into the room, but Lorelai grips her hand, rooting her in place.

"Hey." Her voice is gentle, but firm. "He knows."

Lorelai knows how upset Luke would be if Rory came in weeping and distraught, and how much more upset Rory would be to see Luke upset. She's going to keep everyone calm, she decides. There will be no freaking out under her watch. That's how they'll get through the day. Absolutely _no_ freaking out.

Rory nods again, and sighs heavily. "I'll be in the waiting room."

Lorelai manages a weak smile, bending to kiss her daughter's head again, before she steps past her and walks down the hall to the room Luke is in. She takes big strides, keeps her shoulders back, her head high. She blinks away the brightness in her eyes. Bracing herself.

The nurse, a young, round-faced woman with a bouncing blonde ponytail, is leaving Luke's room as Lorelai approaches. "I've just given him a light sedative, so he might be a little drowsy," she explains before Lorelai walks through the door. "I'll give you two a few minutes before we come to take him to the O.R."

Lorelai thanks her and steps into the small room. Luke is lying on his back, staring at the ceiling, his hands in loose fists at his sides. Seeing his large, solid frame lying in the narrow bed makes her stomach flip unpleasantly. The hospital gown he's wearing looks so odd in place of his usual flannel. She tries not to focus on the IV needle protruding from the top of his hand.

"The nurse said she gave you a shot," she smirks, sitting in the chair beside the bed. "How do you feel? Loopy?"

"Nah." He shakes his head. "Not really." His hands knead the sheet slightly, twisting it between his fingers. He looks uncomfortable and embarrassed, and Lorelai aches with the heavy feeling of helplessness. She can't seem to stop her knees from shaking, her toes from tapping rhythmically on the floor. He notices.

"How much coffee have you had this morning?"

She shakes her head, feigning innocence. "Not that much."

He sighs, in the way she's heard a thousand times from across the diner counter, in the way she knows is an act, his favorite way to tease her. "More or less than three cups?"

"More," she admits.

Luke shakes his head in mock-disgust. "You know, that stuff'll kill you."

They are both utterly silent for one taut moment. She knows he was trying to lighten the mood, but she feels as if someone is sitting on her chest, squeezing the air out of her lungs. She racks her brain for something good to say, something right and witty, something that will make this all better.

"I've got a new plan," she finally says. "The moment you get out of here, you're going on The Lorelai Diet. Nothing but burgers and ice cream, and absolutely no vegetables of any kind. You'll be as healthy as a horse in no time."

"Hey, I'll try anything once," he says, slurring slightly.

She grins suggestively. "Well I know _that_."

"Huh," he huffs softly, his lips turning up in a small smile. His eyes are glassy from the sedative. "Remember that time we fell off the bed?"

"Hell yeah," she nods, and smiles back. "My butt hurts just thinking about it. Definitely not one of our most graceful moments."

Luke closes his eyes. He is quiet for a few seconds. Then his shoulders start to shake.

Lorelai's chest constricts with panic, thinking he's crying. She touches his arm, her hand shaking slightly. Then she hears the chuckles.

He's laughing.

"Whoa there, buster," she says, amused and concerned and relieved. "I think those drugs are stronger than you thought."

He just keeps chortling, reaching up to wipe an errant tear from the corner of his eye.

Luke's laughter is rare and endearing and incredibly contagious, and Lorelai soon finds herself giggling along with him. Her lack of sleep, Luke's sedative, and the tension coiled tightly in both of them is a ripe combination, and within seconds they are guffawing madly.

The sound of their laughter fills the tiny room, expanding and growing, pushing at the too-sharp corners of the hard, white walls, until, finally, it recedes, falling away in increments. They are left giggling softly, curiously sated.

Lorelai feels half-crazy from the laughing, like she is light and floating, so much of the darkness and heaviness having drifted away with their giggles. It all feels very surreal to her for a moment, like maybe they aren't really here, and Luke isn't really sick, and cancer is something that happens to other people.

She smiles down at Luke, and he grins back. And then his face grows serious and he says something that brings her crashing right back down to earth, to this room, to this very real moment:

"I'm glad it's me and not you."

She doesn't know how to respond to that without bursting into tears or screaming at the top of her lungs. So she just takes his hand and swallows hard against the pesky lump in her throat. He closes his eyes, seeming to sink deeper into the pillow under his head.

The nurse comes in then, followed by two orderlies. "Mr. Danes?" she smiles sweetly. "We're going to take you to the O.R. now."

Lorelai stands, sudden panic blooming in her chest. She turns to Luke. "You okay? You ready?" Her voice comes out all shaky and high-pitched.

He nods. Sighs. "Just wanna get it over with."

Her trepidation must be obvious, because the nurse smiles reassuringly. "Don't worry," she says. "He's in good hands. Do you have any last questions?"

They both shake their heads.

Lorelai leans over and kisses his mouth. She squeezes his hand, and really, really doesn't want to let go, but the orderlies flip the brakes on the small bed and begin to roll it toward the door. She manages to keep hold of his hand all the way down the hall, but eventually, the nurse points to a sign on a pair of big blue doors marked 'OR'. "Sorry, hon. This is as far as you can go."

Lorelai looks at Luke, her heart thrumming loudly in her ears. He doesn't look very nervous at all, just a little sleepy. She's suddenly very glad for the sedative they gave him, and wishes she had one for herself.

"Go play Parcheesi," he murmurs, gripping her hand once.

Lorelai nods. She wants to tell him she loves him, feels the words under her tongue. But she has the sudden notion that there is something about 'I love you' that can sound a lot like 'goodbye.'

"I'll be here," she says instead. And then he's gone, disappeared behind the big blue doors.


	4. Now That My Ladder's Gone

As usual, a million thanks to **iheartbridges**, superbeta (she can leap tall run-ons in a single bound!) and one of the smartest, coolest people around.

Also, a big thank you to **sosmitten**, **PuffingNoise**, **Chickflick**, and **Dirty**, for the clever suggestions and advice. This chapter is ten times better because of their help.

Part Four

Now That My Ladder's Gone

Lorelai stands staring at the big blue doors of the operating room for longer than she rationally knows she should. She feels rooted to the spot, and entertains the thought of just standing there until the surgery is done and he comes back through, healed and healthy.

But Rory is waiting for her down the hall.

When she gets to the small waiting room, she sees Rory sitting on an overstuffed grey sofa, putting the finishing touches on a spread of food and entertainment that Homer Simpson would have been proud of. In front of the sofa is a large coffee table, on which Rory has laid out an impressive array of junk food: chips, Cheetos, Hershey's kisses, Red Vines, and a couple of different kinds of Pepperidge Farm cookies. Amongst the junk food are stacks of fashion and entertainment magazines, and piled high beside the table is a tower of board games ranging from Scrabble to Cranium.

Lorelai's eyes widen at the sight. She feels her eyes sting, but quickly blinks any tears away. If she's going to cry at all today it's not going to be for something small. She thinks she might have to save her tears, ration them, for when she might have no choice in the matter.

She eases herself down beside Rory on the grey sofa. "Have I told you lately that you're my favorite daughter?"

Rory grins, folding her hands on her lap proudly. "So my junk food collecting skills are up to par?"

"Well, you did learn from the master," Lorelai concedes. "Seriously, hon, this is impressive."

Rory shrugs. "I thought we might need some survival food. You know, to keep up our strength."

"Of course. I bet if the Donner Party would've had Cheetos and Pepperidge Farm cookies things wouldn't have gotten so ugly."

"Do you think they could have survived on cookies alone?" Rory asks, reaching into one of the bags to pull out a cookie, and holding it up in front of her. "I'm not sure how much nutritional value is in these things. Cannibalism may have been inevitable."

"True," Lorelai concedes, taking a cookie for herself, grateful that her daughter is here to make her think of cookies and cannibals and all things non-cancer-related. "But think of how much happier they'd all have been if dark-chocolate-dipped Milanos had been involved."

"Milanos _do _make everything better."

"Including four hour stints in tiny waiting rooms?"

Rory nods, her face falling. "That was the plan," she says, her voice softer than before. Lorelai suddenly notices the slight redness rimming her daughter's eyes.

She reaches out to tuck a strand of Rory's shoulder-length hair behind her ear. "You okay, babe?"

"Oh, fine," she nods too quickly. "I'm fine. It was just kind of weird, you know, seeing him like that. But I'm fine." She tilts her head to the side and blinks slowly, her big blue eyes intensely focused on her mother. "Are you?"

"Am I what? Weird?" Lorelai dodges. "Most people would answer in the affirmative."

"Mom. Are you fine?"

"Yeah." She attempts a reassuring smile. "Yeah, sure."

"Nice try."

Lorelai sighs. "Okay, so maybe not so fine. I'm... worried. And freaked. But it's only four hours, right? And we have all these board games and magazines... it'll be over before we know it," she finished with forced optimism. "And, hey," she adds indignantly, "if I don't get to pretend to be fine, then you don't either."

Rory rolls her eyes, but nods, then hands Lorelai one of the bowls from the table. "Deal. Cookie?"

"Yes, please."

She pulls a cookie out of the bag and absently nibbles at it. Rory doesn't know how bad it is. They told her about the cancer yesterday after the appointment with the oncologist, but they didn't tell her that it may have spread to his lymph nodes. They didn't tell her that if it has, he has no chance at all. They had both agreed that there was no need to terrify her before they knew anything conclusive. Besides, Lorelai is terrified enough for the both of them.

"Mom?" Rory's concerned voice pulls her out of her thoughts.

"Yeah, sweets?"

"He's gonna be okay."

Lorelai purses her lips. "I know, Rory," she says, as guilt lodges itself in her chest. She hates lying to her daughter. They should have told her everything.

"So..." Rory breaks the silence, gesturing to her stack of board games. "What do you want to play first? I've got the requested Parcheesi; then the essentials: Scrabble, Pictionary, and Trivial Pursuit; and if we're feeling whimsical: Cranium and Scattergories. I just thought that, if we're going to play the waiting game, we might as well play an actual...you know... game." Rory pauses in her nervous diatribe to breathe. "Whadd'ya think?"

"I think there's one you forgot," Lorelai says.

"I did?" Rory's brow furrows. "Which one?"

Lorelai manages a small smirk. "Operation."

* * *

They get through one round of Pictionary before Lorelai gets fidgety and excuses herself to go get coffee simply because she can't stand to sit in that little room for another second. When she returns, she tries to read one of the novels she brought while Rory buries herself in a textbook, but finds herself reading the same sentence over and over and over. The waiting is making her feel like microwave popcorn just before it starts to pop– all restless and jittery, and she can't sit still, can't read her Vogue, can't even swallow any more coffee. 

When Rory's cellphone rings and she leaves to take a call from Logan, Lorelai is almost relieved. She's immensely thankful that Rory is here, but she's finding the act of putting up a strong front particularly exhausting today.

In the sudden quiet of the waiting room, Lorelai finds herself remembering when her father collapsed and was rushed to this very same hospital. She'd sat in a chair much like this one, feeling a similar kind of anxious dread. The one big difference then was that she'd had Luke by her side. He'd sat with her and made her laugh and brought her coffee and let her cry on his shoulder.

Lorelai toes off her shoes and pulls her knees up to her chest, listening to the sound of her heartbeat thumping in her ears.

She remembers when her grandmother died, how she'd gone to Luke even though she'd been dating Jason at the time. After the funeral, Rory had gone back to school to finish a paper, and she'd driven straight to the diner.

Most of the lights had been off and the door was locked, but when she pressed up close to the door she could see him behind the counter, refilling ketchup bottles. She'd knocked softly and he'd opened his door to her.

"You're dressed up," he said when she stepped into the dimly lit diner. He smirked teasingly. "Big date or something?"

She smiled softly. "My grandmother died a few days ago. I was at her funeral."

Luke's face fell immediately. "Oh, God, Lorelai. I'm sorry, I didn't mean..."

She reached out to touch his forearm. His flannel shirt felt soft under her fingertips. "It's fine, Luke. Do you have any coffee?"

He nodded slowly, his eyes wide and heavy with sympathy. "I'll make a pot."

She'd slipped onto one of the stools at the counter, and he'd brewed her a pot of coffee with a bit of cinnamon in it, because he'd known it would make her feel better. Eventually, he'd joined her on the stools, and listened for over an hour as she talked about Trix, and her father, and her whole crazy family, and how she was now the reigning Lorelai, and wondered if that came with some sort of new responsibility. And he sat there, nodding, and chuckling when appropriate, and patting her knee, and was just exactly what she's always needed.

She'd been in love with him then, she realizes, thinking back. She doesn't know when her feelings for him shifted from friendship to something different, or if they'd just always been there. She only knows that when Luke had told her about Nicole's sock-man, the urge she'd had to throttle the woman had been fierce and primal in a way she'd never really felt before. It's kind of the same way she feels now, with the cancer– fiercely protective and ready to fight to the death to keep anything from hurting him. But the tumor on his kidney isn't something she knows how to fight.

Lorelai looks up with a start when she hears footsteps, not expecting Rory to be back so soon. But it's not Rory who walks into the room. It's Caroline Greenleigh, the young mother she'd met earlier in the admitting chairs. The woman looks beyond frazzled. Her blonde hair is falling out of her ponytail, her eyes are red and puffy, and her hands are clutching her purse and a worn-looking stuffed elephant to her stomach.

"Oh," Caroline says when she sees Lorelai sitting on the sofa. "Hi."

"Hey," Lorelai replies, straightening up on the sofa so that the woman can sit. "It's Caroline, right?"

Caroline nods, sitting down beside her. "And you're... Laura?"

"Lorelai."

"Right, sorry."

"No problem. Are you waiting too?"

Caroline nods again. "My Abby's having surgery down the hall. There's another waiting room there but... I just couldn't sit still, you know? I had to walk around. And the intern said that there was another waiting room over here, and so... here I am. Waiting."

"Well, you're welcome to wait with us. My daughter and I, that is. She's outside taking a phone call."

Caroline smiles a little. "You have a daughter? How old is she?"

Lorelai smiles. "Twenty. She's twenty."

Caroline's eyes suddenly fill with tears. "You're very lucky. I hope you know that." She reaches into her purse and pulls out a tissue, dabbing at the tears that are quickly falling down her cheeks.

Lorelai nods, feeling her chest constrict. "I do," she says softly, unsure how to comfort the woman. She picks up the bag of Milanos and offers it to her. "Would you like a cookie?" It seems like a stupid thing to say to a lady who's infant is in surgery, but Caroline actually nods.

"Thanks," she says, sniffling, and gingerly takes a bite. She smiles a little, reaching up to brush a few crumbs off her chin.

"Here," Lorelai says, rolling up the top of the bag and handing it to her. "Take them all. We've got plenty."

"Thank you, Lorelai," she says, and stands up, stuffing the bag of cookies into her purse. "I think I'd better head back now. My family's still waiting down the hall."

Lorelai nods. "I'll see you around, maybe."

"Yeah," Caroline says. "I'll be here for awhile." With a slight wave, she leaves.

"Hey, Caroline," Lorelai calls after her a beat later, and the young woman steps back into the room.

"Good luck," Lorelai says simply.

Caroline nods, holding the stuffed elephant closer to her chest. "You too."

A few minutes after Caroline leaves, Rory comes back into the little room, her cheeks slightly pink from the chilly wind outside.

When Rory sits down on the grey sofa beside her mother, Lorelai is quick to wrap her arms around her, hugging her tightly.

Rory smiles when Lorelai pulls away. "What was that for?"

Lorelai shrugs. "I'm just... glad you're here."

* * *

After nearly three hours of waiting, when Lorelai has looked at her watch over five hundred times and is ready to swear that time is moving backwards and not forwards, Emily Gilmore appears. 

Lorelai and Rory are into a game of Scrabble, with Lorelai unable to concentrate and thus losing terribly, when Emily materializes in the doorway of the waiting room, her brow crinkled in distaste.

"This room is too tiny. Do they seriously expect people to be comfortable waiting for hours on end in a room the size of a matchbox? It's inhuman. You'd think with all that money your grandmother donated to this hospital, some of it could have been put to good use."

Lorelai could only stare for a moment, mouth agape. "Mom? What are you doing here?"

"Good morning, Lorelai, Rory," Emily nods to the girls, stepping into the room.

Lorelai shakes her head emphatically and rises from her seat on the sofa. "No, it's not. What are you _doing_ here?"

"I've come to see about Luke, of course. Rory said his surgery is today. How is he?"

Lorelai looks at Rory, who's staring at her lap. "Rory? You told her?"

"I didn't think it was a secret or anything," Rory explains, looking sheepish. "I was worried, and she called, and it just sort of... slipped out."

"You have no right to be angry at Rory, Lorelai," Emily says sternly, her hands on her hips. "She did nothing wrong. I think I have a right to know when something this serious is happening in your lives."

Lorelai purses her lips, feeling rage bubble up in her chest. She hasn't spoken to her mother since the day Emily came into the diner to yell at Luke, and left after Lorelai told her to 'shut up' more forcefully than she'd ever said anything to her mother in her whole life. As far as Lorelai sees it, because of Emily, she and Luke were apart for four weeks. And now that Luke is sick, Lorelai would give anything to have that wasted time back.

Lorelai shakes her head slowly. After a sleepless night, and the constant thrum of frantic worry pulsing through her like a heartbeat, she simply does not have the energy to deal with her mother today. "No," she says, her voice low and steady. "No way. I can't do this with you right now."

"Do what? Lorelai, I only came to see if I could help in some way," she sets her purse on the corner of the coffee table and starts to shrug off her jacket. "Now, how is Luke?

"Are you kidding me!" Lorelai cries, her former calm evaporated.

"Lorelai," Emily admonishes, crossing her arms.

"No!" Lorelai holds up her hand. "You don't get to talk. You get to leave. You're not here to see how Luke is, you're here to gloat. This is exactly what you wanted!"

"Don't be ridiculous," Emily shakes her head, frowning deeply. "I'm not a monster."

"The hell you aren't!" Lorelai says bitterly, crossing her arms across her chest. Her fingers dig into the flesh of her upper arms, her nails sending sharp little twinges of pain up her arm.

"Lorelai," Emily reproves crossly. "Lower your voice, we're in a hospital."

"I _know_ we're in a hospital, Mom," Lorelai says, her words slow, her voice icy and shaking with anger. "We're in a hospital because Luke has_ cancer_. And there's a good chance that it's going to_ kill him_."

Rory gasps softly at that, and Lorelai immediately feels bad. But anger is rippling under her skin, thumping behind her eyes, and she can't seem to stop the words that fly out of her mouth.

Emily sighs, any traces of anger draining from her face. "I'm sorry this is happening," she says softly.

"I don't believe you," Lorelai retorts coldly, uncrossing her arms. Her fists clench at her sides.

"Lorelai..."

The pressure, the waiting, and now Emily, is all too much. She needs so badly to lash out, to be angry at something, someone, to be able to fight something that she can see, that exists, that she can hold onto. She knows she's being unfair, but Lorelai can't stop herself. "You tried to break us up before. Well, you're getting exactly what you want. He could be out of my life, Mom. Permanently. And you didn't even have to lift a finger. You must be _thrilled_," she spits acid words like venom and fire.

She's so angry. At everything. At her mother, at the doctors, the hospital, the cancer, the universe. A white, hot kind of angry, like pain, like when she flat-ironed the top of her ear.

Emily's voice is strained when she speaks, in a way that Lorelai has only heard a handful of times in her life. "You can't possibly think I wished for this."

_Don't cry,_ Lorelai wills herself when she feels her throat tightening. _Not now. Not in front of_ _her_.

"Please go," she manages quietly.

To her surprise, Emily nods. "Fine. I'll be in the cafeteria."

Lorelai shakes her head. "Go _home_, Mother."

Emily purses her lips, turns on her heel, and leaves.

Lorelai stands there, stunned, for a moment. She covers her face with her hands, feeling the heat of her cheeks. She takes a few deep breaths, trying to calm the pounding of her heart. When she feels more in control, she looks down at Rory. Her heart jumps into her throat when she realizes her daughter is crying silently, her slim shoulders shaking slightly. Lorelai eases down onto the sofa beside her and wraps an arm around her shoulder. "Oh, Rory, I'm sorry," she whispers, not quite trusting her voice.

Rory sniffles, and Lorelai reaches for a napkin, blotting at the tears streaking Rory's face. "It's really bad, isn't it?"

Lorelai nods. "It could be. We don't really know yet." She explains as well as she can what the oncologist told them yesterday. "I'm sorry we didn't tell you everything," she apologizes softly. "We just wanted to wait until we knew for sure."

Rory nods, fingering the buttons on her sweater. "It's happening really fast, isn't it? I mean, you only found out there could be something wrong a week ago, and now..."

"And now our lives have suddenly turned into a cheesy Lifetime movie. Only it's not so cheesy when it's actually happening."

"What are you going to do if it's bad news?" Rory suddenly asks. "Are you going to want to marry him before he... before..."

"Rory, stop." Lorelai shakes her head, shutting her eyes tightly. "Please, I can't talk about that right now."

"Sorry. That was stupid of me to say. I'm just... shocked, I guess."

"I know, honey. It's alright." She slips her hand into Rory's and squeezes. "Let's change the subject, okay? How's Logan?"

"He's fine. He wanted to know if he should come down here to wait with me."

Lorelai smiles. She doesn't like Logan. At all. But if he can offer to do something that sweet, maybe he isn't a complete nincompoop. "That was nice of him. What did you say?"

"Well, I thanked him, but I told him that this was something we Gilmores needed to do together. As a family, you know?"

Lorelai nods.

"And I think that's what Grandma was thinking too," Rory adds softly. "I think that's why she came."

"Rory, I don't want to talk about that either," Lorelai says. She reaches down and picks up the Parcheesi box. "Hey, let's play this one next."

Rory shakes her head. "You shouldn't have been so mean to her. She just wants to help."

"Right," Lorelai scoffs. "Emily Gilmore without a hidden agenda? Fat chance."

"Mom, you're not being fair to Grandma. I think she's really sorry for what happened at the vow renewal. I don't think she realized at the time how much Luke means to you."

"No, Rory, she knew exactly what she was doing," Lorelai says, her voice rising slightly. "She realized we were in a serious relationship and decided to sabotage it. I love Luke, and so she hates him." She purses her lips and takes a breath, trying to quell her growing anger. "It doesn't matter. It's not up to her."

"But, Mom, saying that she's glad he's sick?" Rory shakes her head. "That was pretty harsh."

Lorelai sighs. She crosses her legs and reaches down to finger the frayed hem of her jeans. Then she looks up and forces herself to meet her daughter's concerned eyes. "Yeah, babe," she says softly. "I know."

* * *

The surgery is supposed to take four hours. Lorelai checks her watch every few minutes, mentally drawing a big black 'x' through each new hour that passes as one she'll never have to live through again. When the four hour mark arrives and passes, Lorelai starts to feel cold. An odd sort of dampness creeps under her skin, and she can't quite stop shivering. At five hours, five minutes, she starts feeling nauseous. She tries to ignore it, but it crawls up her chest and makes her eyes water, her vision blur. She tells Rory she's going to the bathroom. As she runs through the empty, quiet hallway her heavy footfalls echo unnaturally loudly in the wide corridors. 

She lowers herself to the ground beside the toilet, forgetting about icky bathroom floors and hospital germs. Her head is spinning. She presses the back of her hand against her mouth, willing the nausea away.

In the quiet of the tiny room, her mind wanders to the places she's been trying to avoid all day. Images of Luke mesh with the images of surgery she remembers seeing on various TLC shows. She sees Luke lying prone on a cold table, sees scalpels, sees gloved hands, sees blood.

"No..." the raspy whisper flies out of her mouth right before her stomach clenches painfully and she's gripping the sides of the toilet, vomiting forcefully.

When her stomach finally feels empty, Lorelai stands shakily. She goes to the sink, washes her hands, then cups them under the faucet, letting the cool water pool in her palms. She brings her hands to her lips and drinks slowly, then fills her palms again, this time splashing the water on her face. She looks up into the mirror above the sink. Her face is white, her eyes bloodshot, her lipstick worn off, and her mascara is smudged under her eyes. She tries to wipe away the blackness with her fingertips, and she can't get it all off, but it doesn't matter, because she can't find the energy to care.

She makes it out of the bathroom, but has to stop outside in the hall, closing her eyes and leaning back against the wall to quell the dizziness in her head. She hears the clip of high heels on the hard floor coming towards her, and squeezes her eyes more tightly shut, hoping whoever it is will leave her alone.


	5. Of the Heart

Part Five

**Of the Heart**

"Lorelai?" her mother's voice echoes in the corridor as the clicking sound of high heels on the hospital floor gets closer.

Lorelai opens her eyes slowly when the footsteps stop. Emily is standing next to her, her forehead creased in what almost looks to Lorelai like concern.

"What's wrong?" Emily asks brusquely. "Are you ill?"

Lorelai closes her eyes again, letting the sturdy wall support her aching shoulders. God, she's tired. "No," she says quietly. "Luke is."

Her eyes still closed, Lorelai is surprised to feel a hand on her forearm, the touch hesitant, but gentle.

"Yes," Emily says, after a moment. "I know."

"I thought you went home, Mom." She sighs heavily. She doesn't even care anymore. She's too drained to care. Her mother could be doing cartwheels down the hallway in a pink leotard and she'd be too distracted to notice.

"No, as I told you, I went to the cafeteria."

"Oh." Though she'd never admit it, she's almost glad to have someone else there. Someone familiar. Someone who is willing to be the strong one and take control. Lorelai feels like she's lost control of everything– the situation, the future, her emotions. As a dull headache begins to throb at her temples, she thinks that maybe it's about time to give someone else a shot at picking up the pieces.

"You look terrible," Emily states simply.

Lorelai touches her chin to her chest. She laughs softly, humorlessly. "Thanks."

"I'm serious, Lorelai. You're as white as a sheet. When was the last time you slept?"

"I'm _fine,_ Mom," Lorelai says, finally lifting her head to look at her mother face-to-face. "I just... need some coffee. Yeah. I need coffee."

"Well, come on then. I'm sure Rory will go and find you some." Lorelai feels her mother's hand on her elbow, and lets her lead her back to the waiting room.

After depositing Lorelai on the sofa next to Rory, Emily takes the chair on the other side of the coffee table, picks up a copy of Vogue and begins to flip through it with a tiny frown. Rory wordlessly threads her fingers through Lorelai's and mother and daughter stare at the clock on the facing wall. All three women are uncharacteristically silent. Lorelai gets more nervous with every second that passes._ This is big_, is all she can think._ This is so, so big._

The clock begins to sound very loud to Lorelai. Combined with the deafening sound of her heart pounding in her ears, she thinks her eardrums are about to explode._ Tick, thump. Tick, thump_. _Tick, thump. _It's a sickening rhythm. She tries to ignore it.

After what seems like hours, but is actually closer to twenty minutes, a nurse wearing lilac scrubs and a thin surgical mask slung around her neck steps into the waiting room. All three of them jump up.

"Family of Luke Danes?" the nurse asks tersely. Lorelai nods. _Tick, thump. Tick, thump._

"I just wanted to let you know that the OR team is just up," the nurse says. "Mr. Danes should be out of surgery within a few minutes. Dr. Stevens will come out and speak with you as soon as they're finished."

"But... " Lorelai sputters. Rory takes her hand, gripping it tightly. "But how is he? Was it bad? Is he okay?"

The nurse shakes her head. "I'm sorry, you'll have to wait for Dr. Stevens. It should only be a few minutes." She offers an apologetic smile and leaves.

"The nerve of that woman!" Emily exclaims. "Can you believe it? Coming in here like she knows something, and then telling us _nothing_!"

"Mom..." Lorelai says as she lowers herself back down onto the sofa, her voice a hoarse whisper.

"This is ridiculous. I should call David McDougall, he's an old friend of your father's, and a wonderful surgeon–"

"Grandma..." Rory tries, sitting down beside Lorelai.

"Dr. McDougall certainly wouldn't stand for this sort of reprehensible treatment. Really, I'll call him; he might be able to help–"

"Mom!" Lorelai shouts, her head in her hands. Emily stops, and stares at her daughter. "Mom," Lorelai says again, softer. "It's fine, alright? She said it was only going to be a few minutes. Can we just sit? Please?"

Emily is quiet for a moment. And then she nods, and sighs softly, and sits down.

A few minutes turns into five. And then ten. Fifteen. After twenty minutes, Rory jumps up and offers to get coffee, obviously feeling the nervous tension thickening in the tiny room.

Lorelai feels like she's going crazy with fear. She gets up and begins to walk in circles around the room, wringing her hands, chewing on her bottom lip. She can feel perspiration collecting at the small of her back and dampening the underwire of her bra.

"Sit down, Lorelai," Emily bids.

She shakes her head, still pacing. "I can't do this. I can't just wait here for him to come in and tell me that Luke is going to die. I just... can't. I can't."

"You have no choice."

Lorelai pauses for moment, the sour taste in her mouth making her stomach flip unpleasantly. "I think I'm going to be sick."

"No, you're not," Emily counters sternly.

"Yes, I am. I'm going to be sick."

"No, Lorelai, you're not. You're going to sit here calmly until that doctor comes in."

"Calmly!" She hears in her own voice a shrill sort of edge that only serves to heighten the manic, anxious feeling building up inside her.

Emily shakes her head in disapproval. "Lorelai," she admonishes, "you're stronger than this."

Lorelai looks over at her mother sharply. A bubble of anger rises up in her chest at the harsh statement, but it bursts quickly.

Emily's right. She is stronger than this.

Lorelai takes a deep breath and sits down on the sofa, leaning over so that her forehead touches her knees. _Tick, thump. Tick, thump. Tick thump, tick thump, tickthumptickthumptickthump..._

The surgeon arrives then.

He's a tall man in his fifties, with a pleasant face and greying hair. "Are you the family of Luke Danes?" he asks Emily and Lorelai. They stand to greet the doctor.

"Yes," Emily says, happily taking control. The surgeon introduces himself as Dr. Stevens.

This is it, Lorelai realizes. This is what they've been waiting for all day. This moment. She shakes her head, suddenly unable to catch her breath. She's not ready to hear this yet.

"No," she says softly. "Rory's not back yet. We should wait for Rory." She clasps her hands together, trying to ease their violent trembling.

"We can tell her when she returns," Emily reasons. "Go ahead, doctor."

Lorelai swallows hard. She's barely breathing.

"Mrs. Danes?" Dr. Stevens addresses her.

"Gilmore," she corrects absently. "How's Luke?"

He smiles. "You can relax now. The surgery went well. The tumor was actually smaller than we anticipated. We were able to remove it without any complications."

Lorelai blinks, trying to make her mind focus on what the doctor is saying. She finds herself only able to catch a few words, like her brain is working in slow-motion. "And the... the lymph nodes?" She manages to ask.

"They appear to be clean. The spots his oncologists viewed on the-ray were probably just a result of the developing process. It happens sometimes. We removed the nodes surrounding the right kidney, but there was no evidence that the cancer has spread beyond the organ. Unfortunately, we did have to remove the kidney, but that was to be expected, and he can lead a normal life with only one."

She stares at him for a moment, open-mouthed and speechless. A normal life. _A normal life. _"So... he's going to be okay?" She squeaks in a voice she doesn't recognize.

"He has an excellent chance. We'll know for certain when his tests come back from the pathology lab in a day or two, and he'll have to have a few months of chemotherapy to make sure the cancer doesn't return, but at this point, there's no reason to believe he won't be fine."

Lorelai is so relieved she doesn't know what to do. She sits down into the chair behind her, her knees suddenly weak. "Thank God," she whispers, almost inaudibly. Then she quickly stands up again and steps toward the surgeon. "No, no, thank _you_! You wonderful, brilliant man. Can I hug you? Oh wait, you're probably specially sterilized or something." She shakes his hand instead, words pouring out of her mouth, relief having triggered her babble-reflex. "Thank you, so much. You're a hero. No, wait, better than that, you're a_ super_hero! You're like, all of the Powerpuff girls combined into one, with Mojo Jojo's big giant brain... but, you know, without the evil."

"I... well... thanks, I think." The doctor chuckles, confused.

"When can I see him?" Lorelai asks.

"He'll probably be in recovery for another hour or so," Dr. Stevens explains. "After that we'll move him to a more permanent room where you can sit with him."

Lorelai and Emily both thank the surgeon again. Then he leaves, and Lorelai sits down and sobs relief into her hands.

She is crying so hard her shoulders are shaking. She covers her mouth with her hand, trying to keep the painful noise inside.

"Lorelai, didn't you hear him?" Emily asks, flabbergasted. She sits down beside her on the sofa. "He said that Luke is going to be fine."

Lorelai turns to Emily. She realizes that she's hasn't let her mother see her cry like this since she was a child, but she can't seem to stop, and she can't keep the words from tumbling out of her mouth. "I was _so _scared..."

She feels like she's been unplugged, and all the emotions she's been bottling up all day have nowhere to go but out. Her quiet sobs fill the small room. Emily is silent, clearly uncomfortable. Lorelai can hear her steady breathing beside her.

"You know," Emily suddenly begins, "I was terrified when your father was in the hospital at Christmas a few years ago. I was afraid he was going to die."

Lorelai looks at her mother sideways, sniffling softly.

"I kept picturing myself having to go through all of his things and deciding which to keep, which to give away..." Emily's face softens, and Lorelai can't help but think how pretty she suddenly looks.

"I imagined having to sleep all alone in our bed from then on, eating dinner alone, traveling alone..." she continues.

"You... did?" Lorelai asks. She's finding it easier to breathe now, her crying lessening to a more manageable series of hiccups and sniffles and shuddery breaths.

Emily nods. "My hands wouldn't stop trembling for a week afterwards."

Lorelai holds up her own shaking hands, palms down. Both women smile a little.

Emily straightens in her seat, pushing her shoulders back, her head high. Her brow furrows slightly, and she nods slowly. It's an expression Lorelai remembers seeing on her mother's face when she was considering a new piece of furniture or picking out an expensive painting at a gallery. Serious, and almost... wise.

"I think he's going to be fine," Emily says, measured and certain.

Lorelai nods, and her chin lifts slightly, though her voice is tight with tears. "I think so too."

* * *

Rory walks in then, and freezes when she sees Lorelai's puffy eyes and tear-streaked face. Stricken, she drops the tray she'd been carrying, and three large cups of coffee splash onto the floor. "Mom, is he...?" she manages to squeak. 

Lorelai jumps up. "No, no, honey," she soothes, ignoring the mess on the floor, pulling her daughter against her side and kissing the top of her head. "Luke is fine. Everything went well. He's gonna be okay."

"Really?" The color begins to return to Rory's face.

"Yes, really. I promise," Lorelai assures her. "The doctor just came in to talk to us. He said: 'all is well in Luke-ville.' Well, not _exactly _like that, but that was the basic gist."

"Oh my God," Rory breathes, her eyes closing briefly in relief. "I was so worried, Mom."

"I know, Rory. But it's okay. He's okay."

Rory looks down at the spilled coffee and frowns. "I made a big mess with the coffee."

Lorelai smiles and clicks her tongue in mock annoyance. "Yeah. Wasted coffee. Such a tragic sight."

"Don't worry, dear," Emily chimes in. "The cleaning staff will clean that up."

Rory nods. "When can we see Luke?"

"The doctor said he's going to be out for a few hours," Lorelai explains. "Why don't you go home for awhile? Have some real dinner?"

"No, Mom, I want to stay."

"Nonsense," Emily says, shaking her head. "You'll come back to the house and have dinner with your grandfather and I. That way you won't have to go all the way to New Haven, and you can come back here tonight during visiting hours."

"See?" Lorelai smiles. "You can go and rest for a few hours, and come back later."

"But what about you? You should come too. Or at least let us bring you back something to eat."

"Nah, I'm just gonna hang out in the cafeteria for a while. I hear their chili is hot enough to make actual steam fly out of your ears, and you know I never pass up a chance to play with my food."

Rory reluctantly agrees to leave with her grandmother, and Lorelai helps her pack up the board games and snacks so that the waiting room isn't left looking as if Hurricane Gilmore passed through it.

When they leave, Lorelai flops back onto the grey sofa where she's spent most of the morning. It's only mid-afternoon, but she's exhausted, not having slept at all last night. She lays her head against the back of the sofa and closes her eyes, her hands folded across her abdomen. She feels light, like after a drastic new haircut, like she's suddenly shed the heavy armor she's been wearing all day. She thinks that if she had the energy, she'd be pulling an Eric LaSalle and pumping the air with her fist in the hospital hallway._ He's fine. He's alive. He's going to be okay. _A few stray tears slip past her eyelashes, but she's smiling widely.

Before she can let herself fall asleep, she gets up and goes to the hospital lobby and calls Buddy and Maizie, and Liz and T.J. to let them know how the surgery went. Maizie sounds choked up on the phone when she tells Lorelai: "I knew he'd make it. That boy's so strong. Always has been. Besides, he's got so much to live for now."

"I wasn't really worried," Liz says spiritedly over the line. "I had a vision that he was going to be fine. I have a sixth sense about these kinds of things, you know."

On her way back upstairs, Lorelai catches her reflection in the shiny steel elevator doors, and gasps at the way she looks. She can just make out the mess that is left of her makeup, and her frizzy, uncontrolled hair. She decides a trip to the bathroom and the utilization of the small array of lip glosses and blush compacts at the bottom of her purse are in desperate order.

What she sees when she turns into the hallway where the bathroom is makes her stop cold. Caroline Greenleigh is standing in the corridor, clutching the same stuffed elephant toy Lorelai had seen her with earlier. She's crying soundlessly, shaking her head from side to side. She's flanked by a man Lorelai doesn't recognize - her husband or a brother perhaps, and a nurse, both of whom are holding one of her arms, supporting her, holding her up. Instinctively, like she did when she first met the woman in the surgery check-in area, Lorelai knows. The hair on the back of her neck stands up, and she remembers the baby's name was Abby, she remember the feel of her tiny fist wrapped up in her hair, she remembers Rory at that age, all in the span of a second.

Lorelai knows she should do something, say something, at least offer the woman her condolences. Instead, she looks away and turns around and heads back up the hall the way she came. She'll find another bathroom.

She feels ashamed, of course, as she walks in the other direction. But mostly, she feels lucky.

The image of the woman's face, broken with grief, will haunt her for a very long time.

* * *

An hour later, when Luke is taken out of recovery and situated in his own private room, Lorelai is allowed to see him. She stops in the doorway of his room, suddenly nervous, even though he's still under the anesthetic. She edges up to him slowly. He looks... weird, she thinks. His face is really pale, and he has monitors attached to his chest, and an IV line in his hand. He looks sick. Even though they've known about the cancer for more than a week, this is the first time he's actually looked unhealthy. It scares her more than she thought it would. 

She puts her purse down and sits in the chair beside his bed. The doctor had said it could be an hour or more before he wakes up, and that even then, he'll be extremely groggy for awhile.

Nurses file in and out as Lorelai waits, flipping through one of the fashion magazines Rory had brought. They inject things into his IV, take his blood pressure, and scribble things on his chart. "How's he doing?" Lorelai asks every time, and they all answer the same way: with a small smile and a perfunctory "his vitals are fine."

The first time he wakes up, it's only for a minute or two. She looks up from an article on Sarah Jessica Parker, and notices his eyes fluttering open. She immediately drops the magazine and leans over him so that he can see her clearly.

"Hi," he rasps, his voice rough.

"Hi," she says back, smiling widely, her cheeks aching pleasantly with the force of it. She's relieved, and happy, but nervous. She's not used to seeing him like this.

"Is it gone?" he asks, and she knows what he's talking about.

She nods. "It's history. It's outta there. It's Clinton after the impeachment trial. Doctor Powerpuff totally kicked its nasty tumor butt."

Luke blinks, his eyes glazed and heavy-lidded. "Doctor... who?"

Lorelai just grins. "Go back to sleep, hon. I'll be right here." She strokes his forehead, and his eyes close.

The second time he wakes up, it's long enough for her to tell him that everything went perfectly.

"You did so well, Luke," she tells him. "Dr. Stevens said the cancer didn't spread. You're fine. You'll have to go through a few rounds of chemo, but Vin Diesel has really popularized the I'm-so-sexy-and-macho-with-my-shiny-bald-head look, so it's all good."

He nods and sighs softly. "I'm gonna look like Captain Picard," he says, but he's smiling, if a little lopsidedly. He's more alert now, but his words are mumbly, and his eyes glassy.

"How do you feel?" Lorelai asks, fingering the edge of his thin hospital gown.

"Heavy." He raises his hand off the bed a little, then lets it fall back down with a soft thump. "My head and my arms feel like lead."

"Well, don't worry," she says, taking one of his hands in hers and lifting it up, holding it to her chest. "I'm pretty strong. I'll hold you up."

Luke grins drowsily again, and shifts slightly in the bed, wincing a little as he does so.

Lorelai frowns, afraid that he's in pain. "Does it hurt a lot?"

He shakes his head slightly. "No, I'm just a little dizzy. Actually, it doesn't really hurt at all."

She smiles. "Good drugs, huh?"

"Yeah," he says slowly. "Good drugs."

She can tell he's beginning to fall asleep again, his eyelids slipping closed. "You're tired, babe." She strokes the delicate skin on the back of his hand with her thumb, then gently lays his arm back at his side. "Why don't you sleep a little more?"

"Maybe just for a few minutes," he concedes, and then he's out again, breathing deeply.

The next time his eyes open, they are clear and bright, and focus on her face immediately. She breathes a small sigh of relief. He's himself again.

"You look like hell," is the first thing he says.

"Thanks, Romeo," she teases.

"You're tired."

Lorelai nods. Leave it to Luke to be worried about _her _five hours after having major surgery. "It's been a long day."

He looks around the room, really noticing his surroundings for the first time. He lifts his hand and looks at the IV line taped to his skin. "Don't remember much of it myself."

"I know, Mr. Morphine," she grins.

Luke reaches out and touches her knee. He squeezes gently. "You should go home."

Lorelai shakes her head. "I'm not leaving." She places her hand over his. "I've been here all afternoon while you've been unconscious. I think I deserve some face time here, mister."

"Bu–" he protests, but she interrupts him.

"I'm staying," Lorelai asserts stubbornly. "No amount of arguing and promises of unlimited amounts of coffee will convince me otherwise. So you might as well get used to me sitting here."

Luke sighs, defeated. His fingers twine with hers on her knee, and she finds herself gripping his hand tightly. She's acutely aware of how close she came to losing this. Losing _him_.

Luke gestures to the head of his bed. "How do I make this thing rise up?"

"Dirty," she cracks. He rolls his eyes, but gives her a small smile.

"I want to sit up."

"Okay. Here, I think this is the button." She crouches down and presses one of the levers on the side of the bed, and sure enough, it raises him into a sitting position.

When she stands back up, he's staring at her sleepily. "Do I really look that bad?" she asks, suddenly self-conscious. She never did make it to the bathroom to fix her makeup. She can just imagine what she looks like: puffy eyes rimmed in smudgy mascara, no lipstick, no blush, and that lovely sallow color her skin turns whenever she's lacking sleep.

"No," he shakes his head. "You look fine."

Although she appreciates the lie, she doesn't believe him. She takes one of her compacts out of her purse to check her reflection and get rid of all the tear-stains and smudgy makeup. But her hands are still shaky from the lack of sleep and the hyper-emotional events of the day, and the compact slips through her fingers and crashes to the floor. The mirror breaks into hundreds of tiny pieces, the shards scattering across the floor.

For a moment, Lorelai can only stare at all the glittering pieces, open-mouthed.

"Shit," she exclaims when she recovers from the small shock. "Seven years of bad–"she begins, but she stops and looks at Luke, who's awake, and alert, and alive. "Nevermind," she finishes softly.

Not wanting to leave pieces of broken glass on the floor, Lorelai bends down to try to clean up the broken mirror. But she picks up one particularly sharp piece a little too quickly, and it slices a small cut in her thumb. She yelps, and a bead of very red blood appears on the surface of her skin.

"You're bleeding," Luke says, concern evident in his voice.

"It's okay," she reassures him, standing up and pinching the tip of her thumb.

"Are you sure?" he asks, trying to lift his head to get a better look at her hand, and grimacing when he realizes that he doesn't have the strength yet.

"Yeah," she says, taking a tissue out of her purse to blot her thumb with. "It's not deep."

Lorelai rummages around in the bottom of her bag until she finds a band-aid. Ripping the plastic off without using her injured thumb, she manages to open the band-aid and presses it over the small cut. "Ta-da," she says with a flourish, holding up her bandaged thumb. "See? It's okay."

"Okay," he repeats, nodding. "It's okay."

* * *

Dr. Stevens comes in later to give Luke the full rundown of the surgery and the upcoming treatments. When he leaves, Lorelai walks around and begins to point out to Luke all of the gifts, flowers and banners that have arrived from the Stars Hollow townspeople and are now filling his room. There are daisies from Babette and Morey, a bonsai tree shaped like a fish from Kirk, a bottle of massage oil from Miss Patty, who said there was no better incentive for him to get better quickly, and even fresh fruit from Taylor. 

When she's finished giving him an inventory of how many people love him and want him to come home soon, she sits back down in her chair and pulls her knees up to her chest.

"Luke?"

He turns her head towards her. "Yeah."

"That baby died."

He looks confused, and she feels bad for confusing him when he's not feeling well, but she needs to tell someone, and he saw her too– that beautiful, sick baby. He saw her too. "What?" he asks. "What baby?"

"The baby from the waiting room this morning, Abby, with the puffy face and the little... the little soft hands..." Lorelai takes a deep breath. "She died."

"Oh. Jeez." Luke's says softly. "How?"

"I dunno. In surgery, maybe." Lorelai bites her lip and stretches out her legs. She reaches out to grip the side of his bed, needing something solid to hold onto. She's been trying not to think about it. She didn't want anything to spoil her own relief, to taint the fact that _her_ news had been good. But she can't ignore what she saw. And she can't forget the look on Caroline Greenleigh's face. She can't shake the feeling that it could have just as easily been her in the hallway this afternoon.

"Hey," Luke says gently, obviously reading the pained expression on her face and following her train of thought. "I'm not goin' anywhere."

Lorelai nods. She's sitting in a hospital room beside Luke who is lying in a bed and is sick and has cancer, and she's never felt so lucky in her whole life.

She feels like a wave of something big is pressing against the walls of her body, something real, something warm and dark and sweet all at the same time, and it's taking every ounce of her strength not to drown in the feeling. She meets his eyes and holds his gaze. His eyes are deep blue and glassy, and, she thinks, so lovely. Lorelai realizes that she's having some sort of epiphany, a revelation. She's never felt like this before. The way she loves him is entirely different than anything she's ever felt for a man. It's almost how she feels for Rory. Like she would do anything to keep him safe. She'd give up shopping. She'd give up coffee. She'd live in a tower like Rapunzel for the rest of her life if it meant he'd be okay. And it isn't just because she doesn't want to live without him. It's because she wants him to live.

Her fingertips brush against his, just the tippy-tips of their fingers touching, and she wonders if he can feel the electric surge of emotion coursing through her body. She wonders if some of this hot energy might be transferred to him through her skin. She thinks that maybe it could revive him, heal him, find the sickness inside him and shrivel it up like a raisin.

As she looks at him, she can feel her eyes begin to well up and her throat tighten. Buck up, Gilmore, she tells herself. Take a deep breath. He's gonna be okay. Be okay. _Be okay. Please be okay._

Her fingertips feel hypersensitive– it's all she can focus on, that tiny square of skin that is touching his, and she remembers the way she felt on their first date, when he pressed his lips to her neck, in the hollow behind her ear, and it felt like this, like the nerve endings in her skin had suddenly been flicked on for the first time.

"Hey, move over," she suddenly says, grinning slyly.

"Why?" he asks, raising an eyebrow, suspicious.

"I'm coming in with you." She carefully climbs up onto the bed beside him, easing onto her back, making sure not to jostle him. She balances on the very edge of the mattress, her shoulder just barely touching his.

"Jeez, Lorelai. This is a hospital, the beds are this small for a reason, you're not supposed to..."

"Narc," she accuses playfully.

"Nutcase," is his dry response.

She shrugs, grinning. Then she sighs, turning her face into his shoulder, her nose against the thin fabric of his hospital gown.

"Hey, where's your TV?" she asks, realizing that there isn't one situated in the corner of the room where she'd expected it to be.

"I guess there isn't one."

Her mouth drops open, and she gasps. "I can't believe you don't have a TV. What kind of a hospital is this?"

"One that focuses on the medical care of their patients and not on mindless entertainment?"

Lorelai grins. "Well then, I guess it's up to me to entertain you."

Luke rolls his eyes. "Oh boy."

"I know, I'll sing you a song! Are you ready? Okay. Here we go." She clears her throat dramatically, then takes a deep breath. _"Hello Muddah, hello Faddah, here I am at Camp Grenada_..."

"Lorelai..." he protests half-heartedly.

"Shhh, I'm singing. _Camp is very entertaining..."_

"You're going to wake up the entire hospital."

"_And they say we'll have some fun if it stops raining!"_

"They're going to call the police. You're disturbing the peace."

"_I went hiking with Joe Spivey..."_

"Okay, you're disturbing _my_ peace."

She glances sideways at him. He's grinning dozily despite his protests. _"He developed poison ivy-"_

"Mom?" Rory appears in the doorway, interrupting the serenade. She's carrying a vase of yellow sunflowers and a cardboard tray of coffee.

"Hey, sweets. Come on in."

"What's with the Alan Sherman?" She asks, smirking.

Lorelai shrugs. "No TV."

"Ah," Rory nods, as if this makes perfect sense, and Lorelai gets up off the bed and sits back down in her chair. Rory steps into the room and hands the coffee to Lorelai, then places the sunflowers on Luke's night table.

"Hi, Luke," she says, a hint of shyness creeping into her voice as she leans over to kiss his cheek.

"Hey, Rory" he says, and Lorelai can see a flush of redness spread across his cheeks at the gesture. She's glad. She hates to see him so pale.

Rory settles into one of the guest chairs on the other side of Luke's bed, and asks him how he's feeling. She explains that she brought sunflowers because they were the only kind of flower that didn't seem too girly. Luke smiles, and asks her about school and what books she's reading.

While Rory and Luke chat idly, a slight movement catches Lorelai's eye, and she looks up to see Emily standing in the doorway, watching Lorelai and Rory with Luke. Their eyes lock and Lorelai sees something unfamiliar in her mother's gaze. Something that, if she didn't believe Emily Gilmore to be incapable of the sentiment, closely resembles understanding. Lorelai finds herself smiling softly. Emily nods, a very slight smile playing over her lips.

Lorelai turns to Luke and Rory for a moment, watching the two people who mean the most to her in the whole world, and wondering if Emily might finally see a bit of what she sees. When she looks back up, Emily is gone.

* * *

When visiting hours end, Rory leaves, and Luke soon falls asleep. Lorelai is content to simply sit and sip her coffee in the quiet. She feels heavy with tiredness and relief. The sun is beginning to set, warming the tiny room with thick, amber light. She thinks about what's to come, but the thoughts are not dark, like they were last night. 

Lorelai presses the back of her hand to his cheek. He's so wonderfully warm. The world suddenly seems very open to her, brimming with bright possibilities. They can have anything they want, do anything they want.

She thinks that she might like to go to his father's cabin with him in the summer, when he's finished chemo treatments and feeling well. Lorelai smiles into her cooling coffee, staring up over the Styrofoam brim at the man sleeping beside her.

She remembers something Rory said today, about marrying Luke if it turned out he didn't have long to live. Two weeks ago, she wouldn't have been immediately sure of the answer. But after today, she's never been more certain about anything.

She wants to be Mrs. Backwards-baseball-cap.

Lorelai drains the last cold, bitter drops of coffee and puts the empty cup on the floor. She finally gives into the overwhelming urge to curl up in the thinly padded chair, and lays her head on the edge of Luke's bed, pillowed on her arm. Just for a moment, she thinks. She'll just rest her eyes for a moment.

_They are dancing, the way they did at his sister's wedding last year. His arms are solid and strong around her. She feels like she did that first time: safe and free and giddy. He looks happy. His body is wonderfully warm, and she presses closer to him as they dance. His arm tightens around her ribcage as they sway to the music._

"_You said before you don't dance," she tells him, grinning, like it's some treasured joke between the two of them. _

"_Well, I'm a compulsive liar," he replies, like she knew he would. His eyes twinkle when he smiles like that._

_She feels the odd, warm wetness against her belly before she sees the red. She pulls away from Luke, and gasps. A patch of blood is spreading slowly over the front of his dress shirt. It blossoms like a flower, the color vivid as it creeps across the white of his shirt. It's on her hands, on her dress, warm and sticky. "Luke," she says, panic rising in her voice. "You're bleeding." _

_He shrugs nonchalantly. "It's okay. It's from the shunt." _

_Lorelai shakes her head. "No, Luke... there's something wrong. That's not supposed to happen..." Her fingers tremble violently as she begins to unbutton his shirt. 'This cannot be happening', the panic-voice intones. _

_Luke takes her shaking hands, trapping them between his own. "It's okay," he says, his voice low and calm. She shakes her head, confused. _

"_Luke, we have to... we have to call an ambulance..." _

_He lets go of her hands and moves to cup her face, his thumbs gently brushing the tops of her ears. "Lorelai," he says, and it's the way he says her name– so measured, so certain, so loving– that makes her hands stop shaking. She meets his eyes. He's smiling softly. A feeling of warmth settles over her. It's a nice sensation– peaceful. "It's okay," Luke says again, and he's so earnest, she can't help but believe him. _

"_Yes," she finds herself nodding slowly. "It's okay." _

As Lorelai sleeps, the twilight reaches through the room's sole window and finds a few small shards of glass lying on the floor in the corner – forgotten pieces of the broken pocket-mirror. When the setting sun is at just the right angle, the shiny fragments catch the light and throw it back tenfold, sparkling like little flecks of diamonds and reflecting light into the darkening corner.

Lorelai wakes slowly, groaning as she sits up, the muscles in her neck protesting the awkward position she'd fallen asleep in. She rubs her eyes, trying to clear her head. The images from her dream begin to float back to her like the dandelion fluffs that blow around in the spring, drifting in from her sleep to collect in her conscious mind. _It felt real. _She can still feel the warm stickiness of blood on her hands. She holds them in front of her. They're clean, bare, except for the small band-aid on her thumb. But they're shaking a little, so she folds them together and squeezes tightly.

Luke is still quiet in front of her, sleeping peacefully, his chest rising and falling steadily. Leaning over, she gently pulls back the sheet covering his waist. His gown is perfectly clean: not a drop of blood mars the pale blue cotton. Lorelai tugs the sheet back up over his chest, lightly tucking it in around his shoulders.

She turns in her chair, looking towards the window. It's getting dark; the sun is nearly set. She leans over to softly press her lips against Luke's forehead, then gets up and goes to the pane. She reaches up, pressing her palm against the cool glass.

Lorelai feels shaken by the odd dream, her whole body suddenly thrumming with an emotion she can't quite define. It's a little like hope, and a little like fear, and nothing like anything she's ever felt before. She knows the next few months are going to be hard. Chemotherapy will make him very sick, and Luke hates being sick. She's going to have to find a way to be there for him without smothering him.

She finds herself wishing she could wipe away the fogginess of the future the way she wipes condensation off the bathroom mirror after a shower. That way, at least, she could see what's going to happen and feel a little more prepared.

Sighing softly, she takes her hand off the window. Looking out onto the street below, Lorelai watches a man and woman leave the hospital. The man is limping slightly, leaning heavily on the woman's arm. She helps him into a yellow cab, then climbs in beside him, and they drive off into the darkness. A few minutes later, Lorelai watches as another woman steps through the hospital doors and onto the street. She is alone, except for the newborn baby in her arms, bundled in blankets. She pauses for a moment outside the hospital doors to adjust the blue baseball cap she is wearing over her dark curls. It's a little too big for her head, and she has to push it up on her forehead to see properly. Then she too climbs into a waiting car and disappears.

Lorelai's hands clench into fists at her sides, and she takes a few deep breaths, trying to clear her mind of the prickling doubt that is starting to creep in. She shifts slightly, stepping closer to the window to feel the last moments of warm daylight on the skin of her face, inadvertently stepping on the shards of broken mirror lying on the floor.

The delicate pieces crunch beneath her feet.

_Now that my ladder's gone,_

_I must lie down where all the ladders start_

_In the foul rag and bone shop of the heart._

_--W.B. Yeats, "The Circus Animal's Desertion" _


	6. Epilogue

Epilogue

It's almost dark by the time she leaves the hospital. They were supposed to be released that morning, but the doctor was late, and by the time the examination was done and they were both given a clean bill of health, the sun was starting to set.

The street lights are just beginning to turn on, bathing the street in an odd, yellow glow. Lorelai hums softly as she stands inside the glass hospital doors, waiting for the car to pull up. She shifts the baby in her arms, pulling the soft blanket he is wrapped in more snugly around his tiny frame. He coos softly, his eyelids flickering, but doesn't wake up. Lorelai smiles, staring down at her son. She can't imagine a more beautiful baby boy.

When she sees the car drive up a few feet away from the doors, she goes out to meet it, but has to stop just outside the hospital to readjust the baseball cap she's wearing. She pushes it up on her forehead so that it's no longer slipping into her eyes and obscuring her view. She'd put it on before leaving the maternity ward to hide the horrible mess her hair has become after two days in bed and a severe lack of styling products. She likes the way it feels on her head: loose and worn and comfortable.

Lorelai climbs into the front seat of the car after securing the baby in the car seat in back with Rory, who's all too happy to spend the ride watching her new baby brother sleep. Rory murmurs soothingly to him and strokes his tiny fist when he fusses upon being placed in the carrier, and it's only moments before he's peaceful again. Lorelai smiles. She can already tell that he's going to be a quiet baby. _Like father, like son,_ she thinks.

When she's situated in the passenger seat, sitting gingerly to avoid aggravating the soreness, she lets herself look out the car window. She gazes up at the hospital looming before them, easily picking out one special window on the third floor, the second one from the left. A faint light is shining from inside the room, a lamp left on, perhaps. Lorelai sighs softly, lost in memories for a moment.

It had been so hard that summer. The chemo treatments were vile and awful and changed Luke into someone she barely recognized. He got so thin that his jeans wouldn't stay up on his hips and she had to buy him a new pair three sizes smaller. He lost his hair, and even though he wore his baseball cap most of the time and insisted he didn't care what he looked like, she knew he felt self-conscious. He became discouraged and cranky when he got so weak he had to stop working, and he was hard to be around a lot of the time.

There were so many things that made it the most dreadful few months of her life. There were the nights after each dose of chemotherapy, when he'd shake and sweat, wracked with endless nausea. There was the way he'd get frustrated when he was too weak to do something for himself, the way he'd take it out on her, snapping at her until she'd be too hurt to stay and would end up driving around for hours in her jeep, trying not to cry and failing miserably most of the time. But she always came back.

There were the weekly doctors appointments, the constant fear, the knowledge that the next word out of the oncologist's mouth could be "relapse."

And then there was the night she came home from the inn and found him collapsed on the living room floor. After she'd frantically called an ambulance, she'd reached behind his head to prop him up onto a pillow and found blood from where he'd hit the coffee table on the way down. She'd stared at the red stickiness on her hand and felt such a rush of cold fear she had to put her forehead between her knees to keep from passing out herself.

Shaking her head slightly, Lorelai forces herself too look away from the window. She turns around in her seat to gaze at her new son. The knot that has formed in her stomach begins to dissolve as she watches the baby's tiny chest rise and fall beneath the thin receiving blankets. A warmth settles over her, a peaceful feeling she faintly remembers from a dream she once had.

Smiling softly, she turns to the man in the driver's seat. "Home, James," she says quietly.

He nods and rolls his eyes, though he's smiling back at her. "Yes ma'am," he replies with only a slight note of sarcasm in his voice. She can see him looking in the rear-view mirror at the sleeping baby nestled in the car seat, his eyes shining.

As they head towards Stars Hollow, their hands meet on the seat between them, their fingers lacing together comfortably. With her other hand, she reaches up and grabs the bill of the baseball cap, rotating it so that it's on backwards. _There_, she thinks with a smile. _That's better._

...End...


End file.
